When the Griffin found that the Minor Canon had left the town he seemed sorry, but showed no disposition to go and look for him.  After a few days had passed, he became much annoyed, and asked some of the people where the Minor Canon had gone.  But, although the citizens had been so anxious that the young clergyman should go to the dreadful wilds, thinking that the Griffin would immediately follow him, they were now afraid to mention the Minor Canon’s destination, for the monster seemed angry already, and, if he should suspect their trick he would, doubtless, become very much enraged.  So every one said he did not know, and the Griffin wandered about disconsolate.  One morning he looked into the Minor Canon’s school-house, which was always empty now, and thought that it was a shame that every thing should suffer on account of the young man’s absence.

“It does not matter so much about the church,” he said, “for nobody went there; but it is a pity about the school.  I think I will teach it myself until he returns.”

It was the hour for opening the school, and the Griffin went inside and pulled the rope which rang the school-bell.  Some of the children who heard the bell ran in to see what was the matter, supposing it to be a joke of one of their companions; but when they saw the Griffin they stood astonished, and scared.

“Go tell the other scholars,” said the monster, “that school is about to open, and that if they are not all here in ten minutes, I shall come after them.”

In seven minutes every scholar was in place.

Never was seen such an orderly school.  Not a boy or girl moved, or uttered a whisper.  The Griffin climbed into the master’s seat, his wide wings spread on each side of him, because he could not lean back in his chair while they stuck out behind, and his great tail coiled around, in front of the desk, the barbed end sticking up, ready to tap any boy or girl who might misbehave.  The Griffin now addressed the scholars, telling them that he intended to teach them while their master was away.  In speaking he endeavored to imitate, as far as possible, the mild and gentle tones of the Minor Canon, but it must be admitted that in this he was not very successful.  He had paid a good deal of attention to the studies of the school, and he determined not to attempt to teach them any thing new, but to review them in what they had been studying; so he called up the various classes, and questioned them upon their previous lessons.  The children racked their brains to remember what they had learned.  They were so afraid of the Griffin’s displeasure that they recited as they had never recited before.  One of the boys, far down in his class, answered so well that the Griffin was astonished.

“I should think you would be at the head,” said he.  “I am sure you have never been in the habit of reciting so well.  Why is this?”

“Because I did not choose to take the trouble,” said the boy, trembling in his boots.  He felt obliged to speak the truth, for all the children thought that the great eyes of the Griffin could see right through them, and that he would know when they told a falsehood.